Unanswered Equations
by Lady of Myth and Legends
Summary: The pain and loss of Gwen has left Peter Parker with a heartbreaking quandary to solve. Yet, while he struggles to grasp the answer, May Parker is there to remind him that some equations do not have a solution. In honor of Gwen Stacey and the hero known, as Spider-Man.


**This has been sitting on my brain for a while now ever since I saw The Amazing Spider-Man 2. Of course, I cried. I've fallen in love with these characters and I couldn't help but feel that Gwen Stacey was the one for Peter. Perhaps it's just Kirsten Dunst's performance from the first three films that puts me off. This little bit takes place two weeks after Gwen's funeral.**

* * *

**Unanswered Equation**

* * *

He couldn't stand to look at it anymore.

It disgusted him every time he opened that damn closet door, filled him with such a volatile anger and a remorse so deep, it caused him to be literally ill on several occasions. So, in a fit of absolute rage, he balled up the mess of fabric and buried it deep in the back of the closet, beneath his father's briefcase and files. Along with every shirt he ever owned and a cardboard box full of random keepsakes he had lying about.

He couldn't. He just couldn't.

He never wanted to see it again.

* * *

Aunt May was growing increasingly concerned. Ever since . . . well, there really was no reason to voice it. She knew. She understood more than her young nephew was apparently aware of. Yet, he hardly said a word to her in the past two weeks. She was worried. Peter wasn't . . . he wasn't handling it.

How could he? He was young. _She_ had been young. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to young people. It wasn't suppose to happen to her Ben either. Yet, the world was full of people who made wrong choices. What her Ben had taught her, what felt like so long ago, was the power behind those choices. Ben wouldn't have wanted her to wallow in guilt or sadness because, she had a responsibility.

Peter.

Whether he liked it or not, whether he wanted it or not, Peter was her choice. Now, she just had to find a way of getting him out of that room.

* * *

He wasn't going back. Not ever. Not after . . .

He rolled over and faced the wall, unable to look at their picture that sat beside his computer. He couldn't even think of her name without seeing her brilliant, golden strands suspended about her pale face like a fluttering halo. How her coat billowed out around her like a robin's wings too weak to take flight. How her emerald eyes opened wide in disbelief, as if knowing the inevitable. How his name had left her lips in a sharp, breath-like cry. He still could hear it, echoing through his mind, in a space void of any other sound except for her.

A short sob found its way past his lips and he had to grit his teeth in order to bare against the onslaught of pain that ripped through his heart. His hands gripped the sheets far too tightly, the sheer strength in his digits cutting through the fabric, leaving small holes. What was he to do now?

What path was left for him? How _could_ there be a path after this? For all that he had become, for all his new strengths, all his powers, it all was useless to him now. The person he wanted most to protect was no longer apart of his life. And, it had been all _his_ fault.

A surge of self-hatred hit him firmly in the gut and his fingers flew from his ruined sheets to his hair. _This_ had been what he'd been trying to avoid all this time. But, he hadn't been able to just let her go. No, letting her go had hurt far too much. So he had clung to her, allowed her to slip back into his world. Yet, _this_ pain . . this pain was far, far _worse._ But, there no going back. He had made a choice, now he had to live with it.

Take responsibility.

Responsibility.

He had been responsible for Gwen the moment she knew the truth of what he was; the very instant she had accepted that part of him. He had taken that responsibility to heart and his fear of losing her had driven him to make absolutely sure that part of himself was hidden to all others. Gwen had been his source of strength, his pillar. If his enemies knew of that hidden strength, they would use her against him and he would be exposed. His strength would, in turn, destroy him.

Much like it was doing at this very moment.

Another sob, another wave of torturous agony. His heart felt ready to burst from his chest and, for the briefest of moments, he welcomed it. He deserved it. He had failed so many people and now Gwen, Gwen of all people, was now added to that list of failures. Who was next? Aunt May?

"NO!" He roared suddenly, flinging himself upright.

He clutched at his temples, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and bowed his head. Aunt May was all he had left. He couldn't lose her too. He couldn't lose his mom on top of all the people he had already failed. He _wouldn't_ allow her name to be added to that growing list. Not if he could help it.

"Peter?"

He looked up. His aunt stood in his doorway, her dark hair slightly tangled and her face a bit more thinner than he remembered.

"Aunt May?" His voice was hoarse yet, he didn't even bother trying to cover it up. He was done trying. "What's wrong? Did I leave my board in the hall again? Sorry, I know how much you hate that. I'll go and -"

"Peter," The tone in her voice stopped him. Aunt May never sounded so . . empty before. "We . . need to talk. Please."

His eyes found the ground again, the blue of his carpet staring back at him. A surge of anger flared at the color. It reminded him of what he had buried in the closet. The thing he never wanted to see ever again.

"Can I come in?" Aunt May asked timidly, something his aunt never was.

She had never asked for permission before to enter his room. She had always barged in, declaring that he give up his laundry or else face certain doom. The time when he had left several plates and glasses on his computer desk suddenly jumped to mind. Aunt May had been furious because most of their dishes had found their way into his room and he had never taken them back down to the kitchen. After that, he had been banded from taking food upstairs until he was eighty.

"Sure." He answered simply, not looking at her.

Still, he couldn't say no when she sounded so . . defeated. In any case, he felt far too tired.

He heard his aunt expel a breath he hadn't known she was holding and felt her move slowly from the doorway to sit down beside him. His senses were dragging or, perhaps, he was just shutting them out subconsciously. He wasn't sure. It had been a very long time since someone had been able to get so close to him without him knowing. Bitterly, he thought he should be glad it was his aunt rather than . . .

"I know this is hard Peter," Aunt May said slowly, her voice dragging him out of his thoughts. "And . . I know you want to be left as is. I did too, for a while."

Confusion pulled at his brows and he looked at her through a lock of his own dark hair to gauge her expression. She wasn't looking at him but, rather the picture beside his computer. She wasn't smiling yet, she wasn't quite frowning either.

"You are so much like him, you know?" She continued, still not looking at him. "Your father. He wanted to protect people too, I believe. Maybe, that was why he left with your mother. I know that I said I didn't know what to believe. I know that I gave up a long time ago on thinking I would ever understand the why."

Then, the corner of his aunt's mouth tilted upwards. A small sign of a smile.

"Perhaps that's it, Peter. The 'why'. Everyone wants to know 'why'. 'Why' this. 'Why' that. Everywhere there's that damn question."

His head shot up, his eyebrows nearly losing themselves in his hairline. His aunt never cursed. Not since her tirade with him over his parents months before.

"We spend so much time trying to figure it out that we lose sight of other things. Like your science equations. You sometimes would get so wrapped up in it that you would forget to look at it not in bits and pieces, but as a whole. Then, once you did, you always asked how you couldn't see it right from the beginning. Right now, Gwen is your equation."

Again, he faced the carpet. Somehow, comparing Gwen to an equation just didn't sound . . . right. She wasn't just a bunch of numbers or parentheses or square roots. Gwen was . . . well, Gwen.

"Perhaps that was a terrible analogy, Ben was so much better at this sort of thing than me." She rubbed a hand over her the ridge of her eyes and sighed. "I still miss him, you know. My Ben."

He stiffened. Of course. Of course she still missed him. He had never known two people to be more in love with each other than his aunt and his uncle. It had been them who taught him anything and everything he needed to know about the subject. When he was younger, it grossed him out. But, ever since he entered high school, that changed. His uncle had given him 'the talk' and told him straight up how he was to treat a girl. Peter had been so freaked out, that he avoided nearly every girl he came into contact with for fear of saying the wrong thing or doing something that would insult them. Yet, he took his uncle's advice to heart and strove to treat women with the utmost respect.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben had been the best example of a loving couple. It just wasn't right to have one without the other.

"I know you feel alone Peter." His aunt continued, her gaze returning to the picture. "I feel that emptiness too. You feel as if it will swallow you up and that everything around you suddenly reminds you of them. And then, you wonder how they could be gone. You wonder the 'why' and then try and seek the answer. Natural of course, until you find that there isn't just one 'why', but several. One looping off from the next and suddenly, there's a whole slew of 'whys' looking back at you and no real answer."

His eyes found his aunt's and he saw small traces of tears welling up. Some of her hair had fallen into her face and he gently reached up, tucking the strand neatly behind her ear.

"So," He began lamely, looking down at his hands. "What's the ending equation here?"

"I haven't figured it out myself, Peter. You know math isn't my strong suit."

For the first time in weeks, he laughed. He threw back his head, clutched at his stomach, and laughed. He laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes and then, suddenly he was sobbing again. His aunt wrapped her thin arms about his shoulders and held him as he cried.

Across the room, from its quaint little place beside the computer, the picture reflected along is surface all the pain and anger and loss that dwelled within him. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled. Somewhere high above the skyscrapers and glass towers of the city of New York, an angel weeped alongside the shattered heart of Peter Parker.


End file.
